


Halting

by L56895



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24491962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L56895/pseuds/L56895
Summary: Post series 9. Donna and Harvey's move to Seattle is postponed when Harvey is called to testify against a familiar face.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this one came to me and it didn't fit in my Alphabet series as a one-shot so I thought I'd give a multi-chapter fic a go!

His apartment has become a kingdom of cardboard, Styrofoam and packing labels. Donna’s belongings are piled up on on top of his- she gave up her own apartment the week after their wedding- and there’s a mountain of boxes that he’s sure is far more precarious than she realises. Donna- his wife, he can’t get enough of reminding himself of that- assures him that she’s on top of it, and he’s inclined to believe her, but he’s squirrelled away his more expensive glassware in several layers of bubble wrap in the bedroom closet just in case. He’s managed to distract her at least once a day during her packing frenzy, but he’s starting to suspect that she’s losing patience with him creeping his hands up her dress and pulling her away from Project Move.

They’re due in Seattle in two weeks, their belongings beginning the cross-country journey to a storage unit in a few days, and their work at the firm has wound down in preparation. Louis had estimated how much vacation time they were both owed from their years of service, much to their protest, and they had finally argued and agreed on three weeks full pay before the big move. He kind of wishes now that they’d taken Louis up on his longer offer instead of acting like martyrs. If anything, their days feel more packed with admin and chores and obligations than they ever did at the firm, and he misses the lazy few days after they got married where they would spend their time curled up in his bed. Drinking coffee, drinking her in.

As their flight draws closer that time together has been cut down. Not entirely, the honeymoon period is nowhere near over and she surprised him that very morning by joining him in the shower, but it still feels like they’ve taken a time out from the easy, lazy newly wed days.

“Aren’t you going a little overboard on the labels?” he teases, prodding a box with the words ‘kitchen: coffee misc’ with his toe, “I mean, what does ‘misc’ even mean?”

“It means, coffee making related items that are neither one of our coffee makers,” she cuts back, giving him a look that he knows means not to push it any more. She’s sat, back up against the couch, wearing nothing but the shirt he sleeps in and a pair of socks, with a pile of files that she’s meticulously organising in to a box marked ‘personal docs’ and he’s not sure he’s ever loved her more.

“What?” she says when she meets his eye.

“Nothing. I’m just thinking about how excited I am to unpack all this in our new home.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Mister, but we don’t currently _have_ a home in Seattle. And if I don’t get all this stuff organised then when we finally do find a place we’ll be eating take out off of legal textbooks for weeks.”

He eyes the boxes labelled ‘plates: white’ carefully, but lands on tact rather than smart-assery.

“Fine, you’re right. But I think we both need a pick-me-up and seeing as you’ve already packed away the coffee, I’m gonna go down the road and get us both a cup.”

He picks his keys out of the bowl that she has thankfully not touched yet and tosses them easily from palm to palm. Unfurling her legs, she eases herself up off of the floor and saunters over to him. If he cocks his head enough he’s sure he can peek under the shirt she’s wearing and she gives him a playful slap on the chest before kissing him.

“I love you, Harvey,” she whispers against his lips.

“I love you too.”

The streets are busier than he expected- since they decided to leave the city he’s found himself noticing things more fondly. The street outside his apartment is full of life and he’ll miss it, he knows, but not as much as he already misses the sight of his wife preparing their new life together. It’s been two months of her excelling at her job whilst booking flights and trucks and hotel rooms and diverting their mail to Mike and Rachel’s apartment in Seattle. She’s a machine, and he doesn’t know what he would do without her.

His ring glints in the sunlight when he raises his hand to admire it- Donna had suggested they find a replacement for the last minute gold band they managed to source while writing their vows but he refused, he’d keep the one she slipped on to his finger until the day he died. He’s not one to go back on his word.

Even on a Saturday there’s a group of three suits gathered by the coffee cart, brows furrowed as they sip their steaming cups and clutch their files under their arms. He waits, patiently, for them to step aside. He’s got all the time in the world right now. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that mere weeks ago this would have been him buried in cases and workload, instead of sauntering down the street to buy a coffee for the woman of his dreams.

“Harvey Spector?”

“Yeah?” he answers without thinking, the suits have moved away and it’s his turn at the counter, “Who are you?”

Without hesitation, the man thrusts an envelope into Harvey’s hand and gives him a perfunctory nod. For a moment Harvey regards it blankly, caught off guard, he’s not usually wearing jeans when this happens.

“Roger Danvey. You’re required to stand in court in three weeks time.”

“What the hell for? I’m not representing anyone right now.”

“But I am. I’ll see you in court, Mister Spector.”

And then he’s gone, marching back down the street and leaving Harvey stunned and speechless on the street. Forgetting the coffee, he tears open the envelope and stars down at the words on the page. They don’t make sense, not in any way he can fit his mind around, although the legalities are there he cannot wrap his head around what this means for the next few weeks of his life.

He glares at the suits staring at him across the pavement before storming back down the street.

~~

“Hey, you,” Donna murmurs, pushing herself up from the sofa to meet him as soon as he walks back through the door. She’s changed out of his shirt into a floaty dress he’s never seen her wear in the office and for a moment he wants to forget about the letter burning in his pocket and pull her into bed. She wouldn’t protest, he can tell by the way she’s easing her hips in to his. But then she pulls back, looks down at his hands and frowns. “Where’s the coffee? Don’t tell me you drank both on the way back here.”

“We need to put our move on hold.”

There’s no use sugar-coating it. She wouldn’t want him to. But it doesn’t make it any easier to watch her face fall and feel her pull herself free from his arms. He can imagine the scenarios that are running through her mind but he doesn’t know how the truth will make her feel any better.

“Harvey, what are you saying? What’s happened?” her voice cracks with worry and he grip her hands to pull her close and press his lips against hers for a moment. She relents, brings her hands up to slip them underneath his shirt and stroke, gently, up his spine in the way she knows he loves and he knows in his bones that he can face any challenge life throws at him if she just stays by his side. Finally, he reaches in to his back pocket and produces the envelope. She takes it from him, eyes searching his.

“I’ve just been subpoenaed for a trial. In three weeks time.”

Her look of confusion is replaced by a wry smile.

“Seriously, Harvey, you want to disrupt our already massive life disruption over a trial? You’ve done this hundreds of times, just fly back-”

His cuts her off with a kiss, open mouthed and desperate, pushes her back up against the kitchen counter. When she brings her hands up to his cheeks to pull him closer he swears he can feel her ring searing in to his skin. Eventually, he pulls away and breathes deep.

“They want me to testify against Paula Agard,” he says finally, eyes locked on his hands at her waist.

He hasn’t thought about Paula in years, hasn’t thought about any woman other than Donna since the second he knocked on her apartment door, but he remembers the feelings, the complications, of trying to fight between his feelings for the two of them. There’s nothing left of his feelings for Paula, but that doesn’t mean he wants to face her on the opposite side of a court. Donna slides away from him, perches on one of the two bar stools they haven’t wrapped in bubble wrap, and finally unfolds the paper in her hands. He can see her scanning it, trying to make sense of it like he did, but she comes up short just like him.

“Harvey, what is this about?”

“I don’t know. But I’m going to call Louis and get him to find out.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! I'm looking forward to writing more of this one.

She’s quiet. And a quiet Donna is always a worry. In lieu of anything better to do, he had carefully unwrapped the glassware from the closet and poured them both a generous, commiserate glug of scotch not long after leaving Louis an urgent message to call him back. Now, his phone sits silently between them as Donna swirls her drink in her glass and Harvey drains his own. The liquid burns his throat- his best scotch is long packed away and he has had to settle for a cheap bottle bought for him by an equally cheap client long ago- and he regrets pouring one for his wife. She’s never been one for knocking back cheap drinks. He tells himself that if she could just say something, anything, he’d find the spark that makes him realise how this is all going to be okay. In reality, he knows she’s waiting for him to offer some explanation, no matter how tangible.

Eventually, he pushes back his now empty glass and moves closer to her along the breakfast bar. She doesn’t move away- a good sign- but instead trains a careful eye on him, her daring look. She’s upright on the bar stool, back straight and body as poised as she is at work when dealing with clients. She’s never poised at home- she slinks and sways and pads about in bare feet and comfy clothes- only ever with strangers. He doesn’t want to be a stranger to her.

“Donna, I swear I have no idea what this is about,” he says finally, touching his fingertips to her neck, wrapping his hands gently in her hair.

Her shoulders sink, and she reaches out to slip both arms around his waist. He holds her there, breathes in the fresh scent of her shampoo, and waits.

“I know you don’t, Harvey. I know.” Her voice is tender, soft, no trace of the anger he was sure would be there.

“I just don’t want you to think…” he trails off, unable to finish and still trust his voice not to shake.

“Think what?”

She’s patient while he takes a deep breath, lets him compose himself before he answers.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, burying his face in to her hair, “That I’ve had any contact with Paula since the second I ripped up your resignation letter. Or that I’ve even _heard_ anything about her. Because I haven’t.”

“Oh, Harvey. I do know that. And I know you’re scared.”

He wants to protest. Make some comment about how nothing scares him. But the truth is she knows him too well for that. She knows his every worry and pressure point and anxiety, every button that can be pushed, every minuscule movement of his body and what it means. He can’t fool her any more than he can fool himself- in fact, he lets out a quiet, bitter chuckle, he could much easier lie to himself.

They’re interrupted by his phone buzzing, lit up with Louis’ number on the screen. When he answers he can hear Louis muttering to himself, shuffling papers and grappling with something metallic- his stapler, probably. There’s a muffled greeting- he’s clearly made Gretchen dial out and set the phone to speaker- and for a brief moment Harvey wishes he had called literally anyone else. He could hang up now, but he knows that Louis has always come through for him. Instead of waiting for pleasantries and Louis’ inevitable rant about how he’s holding the firm together without them, he dives straight in.

“Louis, hey, I need a favour. I’ve been subpoenaed for a trial against Paula Agard-”

The shuffling stops. There’s a click as Louis takes him off speaker phone and grabs the receiver on the other end of the line.

“Your ex therapist?”

“Yes, but-”

“The one you slept with.”

“Yes, and-”

“You need to know what’s up. I’m on it. I’ll drop everything until I find out what’s going on.” A pause, “Oh, and Harvey, thank you for trusting me with this.”

The phone clicks quiet and Harvey is left staring, bereft, at his phone screen. _Thank you for trusting me with this._ He hadn’t considered ‘this’ to be anything major, but there was something about Louis’ reaction that stirs the last calm atom in him. Somewhere, Harvey is sure there’s a clock ticking amongst one of those damn cardboard boxes. Or maybe it’s just his heart pounding and he can’t bear the silence any more. He’s dimly aware of Donna moving closer to him, pressing herself in to his side, her hands moving up to place reassuring palms against his chest and his back. But the room is swimming in a way that seems both familiar and a distant memory; there’s a blackening at the edges of his sight that aren’t quite tangible, but still closing in.

“Harvey, breathe,” her voice is muffled, far away, “Harvey, look at me. It’s okay.”

And then he’s crushing her with the force of his lips on hers, gripping her waist to keep himself steady as he spins and the room stays still, or the room spins around without him, he’s not sure. Donna is strong and steadfast and keeps him upright, always keeps him upright, but right now she’s like a lifeline and soon enough the room stands still enough for him to part her lips and kiss her slowly.

What he wants more than anything is to pull her into the bedroom and bury himself in her, kiss her until he’s over the edge and forgetting that the morning ever happened. But he won’t disrespect her by using her to forget another woman, even if it’s one he hasn’t thought about in years. Still Donna, ever the mind reader, curls her fingers around his and pulls him gently towards the couch- he follows numbly, watching without really seeing when she settles down and pulls him along with her.

“It’s okay,” she breathes, and guides him down. Her lap is his pillow and he wraps both arms around her to anchor himself. If he were tired before he’s exhausted now and it’s a battle to keep his eyes open when she strokes his hair, fingers crunching through the remains of yesterday’s gel. She’s soothing and rhythmic and grounding and everything is heavy when he finally succumbs and lets his eyes drift shut.

A creeping, impalpable memory seeps in to his subconscious. A vision of tears, of Donna’s lips on his and the feelings that awoke in him, or anger at himself and of everyone around him. He sees Paula, looking at him with hurt in her eyes, hears but doesn’t hear her insisting that it’s _me or her. We won’t last. Not with her in your life._ She’s the embodiment of losing his everything… _that’s not fair_ … and an image of Donna, wearing a dress that isn’t a weeding dress but is hers, fades and backs away and disappears in front of him.

“He’s asleep, Louis,” Donna’s voice startles him awake. The light from the windows has shifted and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s slept away a few minutes or a whole day, either way, he feels no less tired. Donna’s fingers are still in his hair, following their soothing circular pattern along his scalp and her voice is low even when she looks down and spots his blinking up at her. “Hang on, I’ll see if he’s awake.”

Harvey takes the phone blankly from her, listens to Louis’ angry garble down the line and comes back to himself. Then, he’s pushing himself to his feet and pacing, matching Louis’ tone with his own movements, absorbing the legal jargon through a mental filter that lets him imagine, just for a moment, that Louis isn’t telling him about is own life. Finally, he thanks him and hangs up, pausing for a moment before turning to face Donna. Patience is a thin mask on her face but she doesn’t push, just reaches out to touch his hand.

“They’re arguing an ethics violation. Said she had an inappropriate relationship with a client and it was a breach of trust,” he says quietly, squeezing her fingertips but not meeting her eye.

“Oh please, Harvey,” she snaps, not angry but matter-of-fact, “You and I both know that you would have found some bullshit legal loophole to prove a point before the two of you got together.”

“It isn’t me.”

Silence. For too long. He can see it on her face, trying to fit his words into a complete puzzle picture in her head. She manages far quicker than him, he’s still trying to get his head round it, but still she fills the silence with her confusion because what he’s saying doesn’t make sense.

“What?”

If he thought he were special he supposes it serves him right. He knows as well as anyone that a leopard doesn’t change its spots. But there’s a creeping feeling of dread flowing through him regardless.

“She’s been seeing another patient.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, I'll start adding some other characters, but I'm enjoying writing some slightly angsty domestic life for these two too much!

They go to bed early.

Donna tries to salvage what’s left of their day by ordering take out and showing him some of the apartments she’s highlighted in the Seattle real estate magazine Rachel sent her. But Harvey has sullied the day and his mood with his drinking and he can’t stop apologising to her and and eventually she folds the magazine pages down carefully and eases the latest glass of scotch out of his hands. If she’s annoyed she doesn’t show it, but he knows she must be angry with him because he’s angry with himself. He’s broody and solemn and where he was useless in the morning he’s a downright hindrance now. He almost wants her to yell. To cry. Just so he knows how to feel. Her calmness leaves him bereft and afloat and it takes every ounce of self control not to launch his glass in to the fireplace.

So eventually she draws all the windows and curtains shut- the sun is still low in the sky and there’s a healthy crowd of people still meandering the streets- and coaxes him to the bedroom. After too many drinks to count he’s unsteady on his feet and it’s a miracle he doesn’t pull them both down to the floor, but she gets him there and the mattress is soft but she is softer, stroking his hair and hushing his apologies. The thought of dragging her in to his misery is unbearable but he knows misery loves company and god damn he needs some company right now.

The room spins in a different way; swimming over and under him and he tries to focus on the bed beneath him. He’s aware of a tugging at his feet as Donna pulls his shoes off and then the anchoring weight of the blanket being drawn over him, but it’s not enough. He needs her arms, hasn’t been able to sleep properly without her since their very first night back together, and he risks searching for them amongst the covers.

“Here,” she whispers, fingers finding him in the dim light. He crawls weakly in to her arms, surrendering to exhaustion when his cheek is pressed in to the crook of her neck. His body is heavy and he thinks he could sink right through the bed and the floor and tumble down through every level until his body hits cold concrete. Maybe he’d keep falling until he came out the other side, floating away in to space like a thing with nothing to tether him to Earth.

~~

Usually, he’s awoken by the light shining trough the window; his apartment is so high up and his bedtime usually so late that the curtains have no practical purpose. But when he wakes up it’s still as dim as when he fell asleep and he’s glad, his head is pounding.

Some time in the night Donna had shifted away from him and now they’re both curled on their sides, hands grasped between them. There’s dark patches around her eyes which means she didn’t take her make up off before sleeping and he has an intangible memory of coming to her like a child before he passed out. Anyone else and he might be worried about what she thinks of him this morning but Donna has seen every high and low and still loves him, which is as close to unconditional as he thinks he deserves.

Leaving her to sleep, Harvey slides out from under the bedsheets and pads quietly out of the bedroom. There’s Thai food congealing on the side and a much too empty bottle of scotch thrown on the sofa and he gets to work removing all evidence of his shame. He’s embarrassed, not for his display of emotions to Donna- he doesn’t ever want to lie to her and the omission would be lie enough- but that he’s let the past creep so obviously in to the present. Two days ago, he would have considered Paula so much of the past as to make her almost irrelevant to now- almost, because their story is an intertwined interlude in the larger epic that is him and Donna. Now Paula is firmly of the present again, and he’s not sure how to show Donna that those feelings of the past have nothing to do with how he behaved last night.

“Feeling better?” Donna says quietly, having snuck up on him from the bedroom, “I was worried about you last night.”

“I’m fine Donna. And I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for how I was last night.”

“You were shocked, and confused and I’m guessing a little hurt, Harvey. It’s fine to feel those things.”

“I shouldn’t be feeling anything about her-“

“Harvey, you have been asked to do something you of all people know is going to be painful, and it’s going to hurt someone you used to care about. And to top it all off, she was someone you trusted completely who, it may turn out, isn’t trustworthy. How else are you supposed to feel?”

Fuck- he loves her.

“You’re not going to tell me you never trusted her?”

Briefly, he swears there’s a knowing smile on her lips, but she wipes it away quickly and presses both palm to his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt that he’s created in his sleep.

“Why would I do that when it doesn’t matter how I feel about her? I haven’t been subpoenaed, you have.”

“I love you. You know that, right? How did I get so lucky?”

“Well, I’m the one with a ring on my finger, not her. So bear that Dr.”

He laughs against her lips when she comes forward to kiss him.

~~

He takes her out to breakfast. It’s the least he can do after last night, he argues, but there’s something about walking such familiar streets, hand in hand with his wife that makes him forget that there could be anything wrong. They stop for coffee at the same coffee cart he stood at less than twenty four hours before, see the same faceless suits as any other day. But their clasped hands swinging between them while they both sip their coffee and walk brings him a sense of calm that he’s come to relish these last few months. He could have called Ray, but then he wouldn’t have the delight of her body moving closer to his as they walk, wouldn’t be able to swing his arm around her shoulders to kiss the crown of her hair, wouldn’t be able to feel the breeze against his skin. Yesterday, the world closed in on him but today it’s wide open again and he’s ready for it.

They pick a diner they’ve never been to before, one that could be the spitting image of their old breakfast haunt when they worked for the DA. Except this one doesn’t hold any old memories of missed opportunities and things no longer said. It’s grimy and everything behind the counter clanks and he loves it. It’s the kind of place Mike would have dragged him to.

Breakfast comes quickly- it’s a working day and they’re not out for an early bird bite- and they both tuck in in companionable silence. He thinks of boxes back at the apartment, of corners of magazines folded down and plans already made and he places his fork back carefully on the plate.

“You could still go to Seattle,” he says quietly, tipping his head to meet her eye. She’s been perusing a newspaper left on the seat of the booth when they arrived and looks up sharply.

“No,” she says simply.

“No?”

“No. We’re moving together. There’s no way I’m leaving you behind.”

“It would only be for a week, maybe two.”

“I don’t care. I want to spend my first two weeks in Seattle in a hotel room with my husband, looking around apartments and finding our new favourite spots. I want to go to dinner with Mike and Rachel _and_ you. I don’t want to think of you back here alone while I’m there alone.”

“The realtor is due to start showing buyers round in two weeks.”

“Screw the realtor. We’ll call her and tell her something’s come up and we need to stay put for a few extra weeks. And if she doesn’t like it we‘ll find a new realtor. Or we’ll send our things on schedule and find a hotel here in the city. Either way I’m not leaving you.”

“Thanks, Donna.”

“I take those vows we made seriously, don’t you know.”

She goes back to reading the newspaper, fork scooping up eggs without looking, and he takes a moment to enjoy watching her before he goes back to eating his own.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis pokes his head around his office door and, satisfied the corridor is clear, gently swings it closed behind him and scurries back to his desk. Gretchen is at her station, but he’s checked that the light for her line is blank and he dials out with his cell to be safe.

“Katrina, I need to speak with you about an urgent matter,” he says without waiting for a greeting, “Meet me in the filing room in ten minutes. Make sure you’re not followed.”

With that he pockets the phone and grabs his empty coffee cup and a spare file- all the better to look inconspicuous- and heads out of his office in the direction of the filing room. Katrina is already there waiting for him- he reminds himself to commend her on her punctuality later when the timing is right- her notepad clutched in her hand and her hair pushed back behind her ears in business-ready fashion.

“I came as soon as I listened to your message,” she says perfunctorily, “What’s the emergency.”

Slamming the file down on the copier, he holds his hands up and thrusts a foot forward- a power stance learnt from a TED Talk Sheila recommended to him during his ‘Bad Boy’ period. He has privately dubbed it ‘The Jazz Man’.

“Harvey Spector is in jeopardy, Katrina, and we are the only two people who can save him.”

Her eyes widen- she always recognises the severity of any situation straight away- as she places her notepad down on an empty table and takes a step forward

“Louis, how bad is it? Do we need to alert the authorities.”

“No, Katrina, my best friend gave me a job to do and I won’t let him down and I won’t delegate. I’m telling you because I trust you, but I don’t think even he realises how bad things are.”

“Louis, you’re scaring me. What’s happened? Is Donna okay?”

Louis pauses, the news deserves the respect of him taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Harvey’s ex-therapist is being tried for abuse of trust.”

“So?”

“So? So Harvey slept with her and now he’s all tangled up in this mess. And he’s due to testify.”

Katrina takes a deep breath.

“Louis, is there any chance you’re overreacting about this?”

“Katrina, you’ve been taken in by Harvey’s alpha male masculinity. But what you don’t know is, he’s a fragile soul. He needs his family, his brother and his awkward cousin. I’m not talking about supporting him in a legal sense, I'm talking about supporting him psychologically.”

As Katrina takes a moment to mull over this statement there’s a gentle rap on the metal shelving unit.

“Ahem.”

They turn to see Gretchen stood by the door.

Louis rounds on Katrina, one fist clenched and the other hand pointing accusatorily at Gretchen.

“Damnit Katrina, I told you to make sure you weren’t followed!”

“You pocket dialled your own office, genius,” Gretchen raises an eyebrow at him and Louis fishes his cell out of his pocket and furiously jabs at the screen, “I heard you talking on the phone. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let Red that pretty boy suffer without doing whatever I can to help, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Satisfied, Louis gives her a nod and beckons her closer, pulling them both in to a huddle.

“Okay, good. First thing’s first. Gretchen, call Dr Lipschitz , tell him to clear his schedule every night this week. Katrina, I need you on every precedent for a therapist losing their license in the history of time. I want to know exactly what questions that prosecutor will throw at Harvey and every single thing you think her defence will throw back at him.”

Gretchen and Katrina exchange a look.

“And what are you going to do, Louis?”

“I’m gonna get little brother on a plane.”

He storms out, slamming the door behind him. There’s a long pause, before Katrina turns to Gretchen.

“So... what do we do now?”

“I suggest you do about three fifths of what he just asked you to do,” replies Gretchen, picking up the file Louis has left on the copier and walking out of the room.

~~

Mike calls him by lunchtime. Harvey is not surprised to see his name lit up on the screen of his phone, he’s slightly surprised that he hasn’t thought to call him before this. Donna has kept a pretty careful eye on him all day so he is pretty sure she hasn’t had the chance to call Rachel, which leaves only one other suspect.

“Let me guess, Louis called you.”

He can imagine Mike on the other end of the phone; tie too thin and jaunty, pouring a cup of black coffee from some communal pot on his lunch break. He can’t picture his new office being anything like the old- that’s privately been one of the biggest draws- and he feels a little pang of grief that he and Donna have to wait even longer to join them. There’s a muffled plonk of a mug hitting a counter somewhere on the West coast and Mike sighs.

“Yeah, but _you_ should have called me, Harvey. What the fuck?”

He’s not angry, not really, it’s obvious in his voice, but Mike has never been one to hide his emotions and there’s worry dripping down the line.

“Mike, it’s fine,” Mike may be no good at hiding his emotions but Harvey is a seasoned pro, “It’s just a set-back, we’ll be with you soon enough. And I can start work remotely if it’s an issue.”

“I’m not talking about the work, Harvey,” Mike cuts him off and there’s an uncharacteristic note of seriousness in his voice.

“I know, Mike.”

There’s something very pregnant about the silence on the other end of the phone. Aside from Donna, Mike is the person Harvey is closest to in the world- excluding his brother and maybe his weird relationship with Louis, neither of which he would consider true confidants. He could open up, tell Mike how he’s feeling without worrying about hurting him like Donna, or him flying off the rails like Louis, but it’s breaking a lifetime of feigning strength and that break feels more like a shatter.

“Are you okay?” Mike says finally. Harvey can hear the concern in his voice, knows that he should say something profound, but he’s still so tired and the phone seems like hard work he just doesn’t have the energy for right now.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Mike sighs again.

“You found me a tenant yet?”

“No, but-”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mike, you don’t have to come,” he stops himself. He’s an idiot, he realises. “You’ve already bought a plane ticket haven’t you?”

“Yep.”

“And what would have done if I _had_ found someone for your place?”

“You’ve got a big bed. Plenty of room for three of us.”

Finally, Harvey laughs. The first honest to god laugh he’s been able to muster up in two days.

“You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly different feel to this chapter, but I wanted to add in a few secondary characters and I love writing dialogue!


	5. Chapter 5

When he hangs up Donna is watching him expectantly, her bare feet tucked in his lap. She’s been running circles in to his thighs with the tips of her toes as he speaks, a faithful, ever present comfort. They’re sickeningly domestic, and he loves it. His lunch sits uneaten on the table, hers a brief ghost of crumbs next to it.

“That was Mike.”

She tips her head, smile warm. Despite all their years together he still ends up explaining to her what she already knows. If she didn’t find it so endearing he might be embarrassed at how easy she reads him.

“I guessed.”

Of course, although there’s something more to her smile than her usual Donna intuition. He looks down at the phone in her hands.

“Rachel text you?”

“She did. _And_ she told me that she’s staying in Seattle so we can still ship all these boxes as planned.”

Those damn boxes. Their whole lives bundled away in to neat little packages. She’s worked so hard- first stripping away everything from her own home and then helping him to organise his- and he’s never thought to thank her. Words alone are cheap, he thinks, and instead he makes a silent promise to show her exactly how grateful he is.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” he says softly, running the back of his hand up her leg to settle at her knee. She gives him a derisive look.

“You just now realising that? Harvey I know I’ve done most of the packing but I thought you were supposed to be a lawyer.”

He laughs and pulls her by the ankles so her legs are draped over his.

“It just feels good. Feels like we’re finally doing something for us.”

Donna’s lips feel warm against his when he leans into her, cherishes the heat of her pressed to him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against her, pressing soft kisses from her lips to her jaw to the smooth skin of her neck. There’s a moan building in her throat and he feels her suppress it, place a palm against his chest and push him back gently.

“What are you thanking me for?” she whispers, her breathe rolling across his cheek, feather light.

“For everything, Donna. For putting up with me for the best part of fifteen years and still choosing me. Still marrying me. Still starting a new life with me.”

“Harvey, what’s brought this on?”

“It’s just… Mike is on his way here, you’ve been taking care of me for the last few days, Louis is off somewhere preparing whatever weird army he’s got under his belt… I just never really considered that my problems were something for anyone else to worry about.”

“That’s because you’ve always had an issue with acknowledging how much people care about you.”

“I think I’m finally beginning to see it.”

Donna leans back against the cushions and nods her head towards his lunch, a sandwich with peanut butter she scraped from the last jar at the back of his kitchen cabinet.

“You want to finish that?”

“No,” he takes her hand, pulls her closer to him, “I think I’m working up a different kind of appetite.”

She giggles as he pulls her off the couch and back her in to the bedroom.

~~

“Is it just me or is it a little hot in here now?”

Donna is draped over him, bare skin soft and hot and flush against his. Somewhere, there’s a pillow discarded on the floor and the sheets are tangled around their feet but he’s too out of breath to care.

When he finally comes back to himself she is shivering slightly and he shuffles the sheet back up to cover them. There’s gurgling that he soon realises is coming from him and she laughs gently.

“Maybe I should have eaten after all.”

“Well, there is absolutely nothing left in your cabinets so if you want food now you’re gonna have to order in.”

“Thai?”

“Pick something else, Harvey, you’re becoming predictable.”

He kisses her before bounding out of bed, renewed energy and a lightness in him that hadn’t been there before. Quickly pulling on the clothes that he had abandoned on the floor earlier, he heads out of the bedroom to find his phone.

“Not Thai!” comes Donna’s voice from the bedroom, teasing and carefree.

Harvey pours them a glass of wine while she’s still lounging in the bed, her hair tousled and the sheet pulled up against her chest. He’d usually pick red, but he’s learnt that Donna is secretly partial to a cheap rosé and he keeps a bottle on hand at all times. There’s something sordid about spending ten dollars on a bottle of wine... but she lets him watch Oprah reruns on a Sunday morning and take her out for cheap burgers in lieu of a fancy date so he guesses they both have secret tastes.

When he heads back to the bedroom she’s pulling on her robe- a silky, dark number he loves rubbing his hands under- and she takes the glass from him gratefully.

As she takes a sip, there’s an abrupt rap from the front door of his apartment and he turns to her, eyebrow raised.

“You don’t think?”

“That Mike got here within five hours? I wouldn’t put it past him, Harvey, but somehow I doubt it.”

The rapping continues as he approaches the front door and there’s a sick feeling in his stomach, a quickening in his chest. Louis is the only person he knows that knocks so insistently, and Louis never leaves the office before seven. Swinging the door open, he stares.

“Paula.”

Somewhere in the apartment he hears Donna put down her glass. Then, stillness. She’s listening. Paula pushes past him in to the corridor, pulling her cardigan tighter around her. Her heels click on the linoleum and he wonders if she’s come as she is, or whether she deliberated in front of the mirror before she left her brownstone. He vaguely recognises the cardigan as one she wore during his sessions- there’s a distinctive embroidered pattern down the sleeves- and the realisation leaves him cold.

If he was expecting to find her on the other side of the door it wasn’t conscious, but there’s something about the sheer, dangerous audacity that he almost admires.

The thought is short-lived, though, replaced with a hot rage that shoots through him and makes him see stars.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here, Paula?”

“Don’t speak to me like that, Harvey, what the hell are _you_ playing at agreeing to testify against me.”

Her anger isn’t surprising, but the bitterness with which she spits the words out at him is. Even during their most devastating arguments she never looked at him in the way she is now- like she’s seeing right through him and is disgusted with what she finds.

“They issued me with a subpoena. I don’t have a choice. You should know that, seeing as you once said the exact same thing to me when you had to testify against one of my clients!”

Briefly, Paula looks down at the ground, shoulders deflated. When she looks up at him her face is masked with something he can’t quite identify... regret, maybe. There’s an insidious part of him warning him not to trust her. Not to trust anyone anymore.

“And if you had a choice, would you choose to testify against me?” Paula asks finally.

“I...” he pauses, unsure. Paula laughs bitterly.

“I thought as much,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. She steps closer and he instinctively moves back. They’re almost in view of the bedroom and if he turns his head just so he knows he’ll be able to see Donna. The thought is comforting, just for a moment, then Paula has her hand on his arm, pulling his attention back to her. “Harvey, please, please don’t let them twist what we had against me. You once asked me to lie for you against Sam Tull. I’m not asking you to do that, just please choose your words carefully. You’re an amazing attorney, you know how to do that so as not to implicate me.”

Her eyes are big, wet, pleading.

“I know we had something special. I know you don’t want to hurt me, that you must still care. I can see it in your eyes. You have the power to save me, save my licence and save my clients.”

It’s too much. The things she’s saying, the look in her eyes, and he reaches up to wipe his face with his palm. It feels hot, stifling, even though he knows Donna opened all the windows earlier. When he drops his hand Paula is looking at him strangely; her eyes have lost that misty look and her jaw is set hard.

“You’re married,” she says simply. It is not a question.

“I am.”

That bitter laugh again. He’s struck with the thought that she thinks she is better than him, always has, and he wonders why that dynamic was never obvious to him before. Whether his ego shielded him from the realisation that she was never The One because she never valued him a fraction of the amount he values the people he cares about. The thought makes him sad, until she speaks again.

“I guess you finally found someone willing to be second best to you.”

There’s a movement out of the corner of his eye but he can’t think, can’t focus on anything other than the unfettered, hot rage bubbling up and numbing him.

“Paula, don’t.”

“Or did you actually accept that you’re toxically dependent on Donna and move on?”

“Stop!” If he had a glass he’d throw it at the wall but his hands are empty and instead Harvey throws his fist against the wall and Paula jumps visibly. The movement cuts through his anger and replaces it with a shooting, white-blind pain that radiates from his hand to his arm. Paula is staring, her confidence gone and he hates himself for losing control. He’s not supposed to lose control anymore. He’s supposed to be better.

“Enough!” Donna’s voice is clear and firm behind him but he can hear the quiver threatening to break through.

His hand hurts and his heart hurts and he wants Donna to step in front of him like she always does and make the night go away. Instead, she steps to his side, the two of them against Paula, and slips her hand onto his.

“I don’t believe this...” Paula breathes.

“You shouldn’t be here, Paula, and you know it,” Donna says firmly. Paula raises both her hands in surrender, but her face has taken on that grim look of certainty she always wore when she thought she’d caught him out in dishonesty.

“Actually, forget what I said,” she says bitterly, “Maybe I can believe it. I guess my suspicions about you two were right.”

Then Donna steps forward, tall and sure even without her heels, and pulls open the door. Paula throws him a look before pushing past Donna and stepping out in to the corridor.

“Oh, and Paula, don’t you _ever_ come here again. What Harvey and I have hasn’t always been perfect but we have _never_ been toxic to one another. _That_ is your area of expertise.”

With that she slams the door and turns to him; where Paula’s sadness had sat unnaturally on her face Donna’s seeps through every pore and he feels something inside him break a little at the look she gives him. Slowly, he lets his legs buckle underneath him and sinks to the floor, back pressed up against the cool glass of his windows. Donna is next to him before he hits the ground, her hands in his hair and her lips brushing against his cheek as she murmurs reassuringly.

“Oh god Donna, I wanted to hurt her. I saw red and I wanted to hurt her.” He’s shaking, and he holds on to her to steady himself, pulls her in to his lap. Her skin is hot underneath her robe and the weight of her against him is grounding.

“It’s okay,” Donna is cooing in to his hair, stroking her way from the nape of his neck and down his back. But there’s nothing she can do to fight away the rising disgust he feels as the stinging pain shooting through his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite liked Paua's character in series 5 and I thought she had a lot of potential... until she started dating an ex-patient. Then all of her actions seemed manipulative. I'm hoping I haven't been too harsh!


	6. Chapter 6

His hand is broken, that much is obvious when the light hits his eyes the next morning and he reaches up to rub his face. The skin across his knuckles is bruised and scraped and he can’t open his fist without sending a bullet of pain up his arm. Next to him, Donna is sleeping soundly, nestled in to the crook of his other arm, and he lays still to avoid waking her.

They had stayed up in to the early hours of the morning; his hand cradled in a makeshift ice pack while they shared a pizza and just... talked. Once Donna had coaxed him from the floor, pulled him from his own head and back down to Earth, they had settled on the couch together and teased out their worries slowly. It had been good for him to hear she was scared too- that he wasn’t alone in feeling like they were headed for something akin to one of the Twelve Labours, something that would test them and punish them for mistakes made long in the past.

He’s better when there’s a spoken problem to solve- when he can taste the words on his tongue rather than relying on scrutiny of his own feelings. And he’s better still when he’s reminded of Donna’s unwavering faith in him. She did that for him last night, broke herself open and revealed her fears while he ran his fingers through her hair.

_Why didn’t you tell me you were scared too?_

_Because I know you, and I know it’ll all be okay._

Flexing his hand again, he winces and the movement stirs Donna, who stretches out against him under the sheets. Usually, he would roll to face her in the bed, cup her cheeks and pull her in for a kiss- but the pain is distracting and he settles for tightening his grip around her shoulders.

“Harvey...” she murmurs then, spotting his ruined knuckles, bolts upright in the bed. “Your hand!”

“It’s fine,” he insists, but he feels his mouth twisting in pain as he speaks.

“Harvey, it’s not fine.” She reaches out to cup his forearm in her hand, rubbing the pad of her thumb against his wrist. The gesture is so gentle that for a moment he feels like he might weep all over again, but he rallies, meets her eye. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Damnit Donna, I’m fine.” He winces again, somewhat disproving his point.

“Don’t, Harvey. Don’t you dare push me away this morning, not after last night.”

They’ve had this argument so many times in the past; him refusing to accept his feelings and her pushing him to talk. There was a time when he couldn’t acknowledge how lucky he was to have this- have someone who is both a best friend and a soul mate, who pushes him to face every feeling he’s ever suppressed- but now he _has_ acknowledged it it feels foolish to fight.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

She throws his clothes from the night before at him, before padding out of the room to call Ray.

~~

The Emergency Room is crowded, but they pass the time parsing through the magazines left on the seats; Harvey awkwardly placing them on his lap and turning the pages with his left hand while his right sits uselessly against the arm rest. He feels restless, uneasy about being sat there while, somewhere in the office, Louis is supporting him, and Mike is in the air heading straight for him. But when he voices that worry to Donna she tells him to just let the world be for a while, and they wait to be called in by a nurse. Donna fills in the insurance papers for him- he has wrecked his writing hand.

When he is eventually called he is hustled in to a room by a nurse- an abrupt, dumpy lady who nevertheless handles his ruined hand with a deftness and carefulness he thinks he has never experienced in any other professional sphere- and he lets Donna explain the incident with wall. The nurse regards him strangely and he wonders what she thinks of him, whether she will call Donna in to a separate room to interrogate her, and the thought makes him sick. Then he feels Donna’s hand on his shoulder, hears her reassure them all about a question no one has asked, and the nurse gives him a playful pat on the knee.

“What did the wall do to you?” she laughs. Donna leans over to kiss the top of his head.

“I got some bad news, I shouldn’t have,” he replies meekly, unsure of how to respond to these women who mock him so lovingly.

A subsequent x-ray reveals a fracture that splits across three knuckles and they are dispatched home with painkillers, Harvey’s hand wrapped up tight and a strict instruction from a nurse to control his temper in future.

Ray drives them home without asking any questions, although Harvey can see him glancing back at them through the mirror every so often with a strange expression on his face. Donna sits to his left, clasps his good hand in both of hers and plays with his wedding ring absentmindedly. It’s a habit he’s noticed she’s picked up since the wedding and he’s sure she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it. He doesn’t want to enlighten her just in case she stops.

At the door to their building Donna hangs back.

“I’m gonna go grab us a couple of coffees. You look like you need the caffeine,” she says by way of explanation and, without waiting on a response, turns and heads down the street towards her favourite coffee shop.

Harvey takes the stairs.

It’s a slog, but there’s a part of him that’s a glutton for punishment and Donna won’t be back for a while anyway. He needs the time to think that won’t lead him to reaching for a glass of scotch. In his pocket, his phone buzzes a few times- Louis, probably- but he ignores it and continues his penance-climb up to his floor. It’s been a while since he hit the gym before work- staying in bed with Donna is always so much more tempting- and by the time he’s putting his key in the lock and pushing open his door he’s out of breathe and cursing himself.

“If I’d known I was hiring an old man I might have reconsidered.”

Mike is stood at the breakfast bar, his usual smug look plastered over his face. Harvey thinks he’s never been so grateful to see a friend and for a few moments he can forget about the pain in his hand. It’s short-lived, Donna clearly didn’t warn Mike about their trip to the emergency room this morning.

“Jesus, Harvey, what did you do to your hand?”

“If you think this is bad, wait until you see the other guy,” Harvey says lightly, shrugging. The movement causes a twinge of pain right through to his shoulder but the painkillers he’s taken are pretty good and he’s able to mask it.

“You punched a wall didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I punched a wall.”

Mike shakes his head.

“I’d offer you some of your own scotch but you’re looking a bit funny around the eyes.”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down, Mike.”

“Seriously, man, I know a high expression when I see one. What did they give you?”

Harvey thinks of the packet Donna kept in her purse, after squeezing out a dose in to his hand and watching him dry-swallow carefully. There had been many letters on the box, none of them are swimming together in to any semblance of a word in his head. He shrugs again.

“I could have fun with this,” Mike grins and Harvey resists the urge to punch him playfully on the arm. Instead, he accepts Mike’s hug gratefully, clinging to the fabric of his shirt with his left hand while his right hangs limply at his side.


End file.
